Through a broken mirror
by TenTenD
Summary: A collection of various drabbles, focusing on Darcy and Loki, preferably together, randomly written for your viewing pleasure. Rated T for now.
1. Discovery

Usually when I'm writing something I get another million ideas. For that purpose I made a sketch dump of sorts. It will contain various drabbles focusing on Loki, Darcy or both.

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Darcy is not particularly pleased when she comes home to discover that her two year old son is standing next to a broken vase. It's not the object she's worried about. Instead she quietly takes in the droplets of blood staining the floor. Her baby boy isn't crying but tear tracks mark his cheeks and Darcy know exactly what happened.

She bends down and takes the boy in her arms whispering soothingly as her hand traces the sole of his tiny foot. Sticky thick red blood stains her hand in a matter of seconds. Darcy doesn't panic; she can't afford to. "How did you manage to do this Derrick?" she asks gently. The child doesn't answer; he rarely speaks even though he can do so perfectly.

Darcy sets him on the couch and walks to the bathroom. She returns with a bottle of disinfectant and some bandages. She puts sanitizer on one piece of cloth and starts wiping the small wound her son managed to obtain in his play. Derrick is silent, his green eyes attentively watching her. After the cut is clean a bandage is wrapped around it carefully.

"I'm sorry." Derrick says, making Darcy jump. "I didn't mean to break the vase." he offers and his lips arrange in a pout.

"I know." Darcy's voice is gentle; she is trying to comfort her child. "It's alright." she said and runs her fingers through his slick black hair. Offhandedly she notices that he looks more like his father with every passing day. She's just worried that one day his skin will suddenly turn blue. Darcy has nothing against blue, but others might.

She kisses Derrick's forehead and the bell rings suddenly. With a sigh she gets up from the floor. "Stay here." she tells him. "And stay put." she warns. Derrick flashes her one innocent smile and Darcy inwardly worries. He is too much like his father. Even so she saunters to the door ready to give the unsuspecting visitor hell. It's late, for the love of God!

The door is opened with a sharp tug from Darcy. She opens her mouth to say something but immediately stops. Her eyes, blue pools, are fixed on the person in the door way. She lets out a shaky breath, it's all that she can manage, and feels all of her power leaving her. This can't be happening. No way. Not to her. The universe must be laughing at her. Still no words come out.

"Darcy Lewis I wonder if you have forgotten your manners." the intruders says in a familiar drawl.

As if woken from a daze Darcy replies, "No! But maybe you have. Loki Odinson, why are you here? And at this late hour too."

"You didn't actually think you could hide forever." He enters the apartment without trouble. "Did you?" The question is rhetorical. "That would be plain stupid and you are far more intelligent than that." Loki hangs his coat and turns to smirk at her.

"Hope never dies." Darcy aims to stab with her words. "But you sure are choking mine."

Loki frowns. He gracefully raises his hand towards her and Darcy shrinks back. The man stops for a second and gives her a chilling look. "Darcy I came here to-" he never finishes.

"Mommy!" her son yells from the rooms and Darcy is vaguely aware that a storm has started outside. Her brain however quickly pulls her together. Loki doesn't know about Derrick so his surprise is not unexpected and Darcy panics. He shouldn't have come here. It's too late though.

Loki's eyes are big and disbelieving. He stalks past Darcy and comes to the entrance of the room the voice came from. He sees a small boy sitting on a worn couch. And the first thing that hits Loki is that the child has his eyes. Deep, dark green fathomless depths on fair skin. The boy, no older than two, is his spitting image down to the ebony hair. Loki puts two and two together. He can hear Darcy behind him but he's too absorbed with this new discovery.

His sleeve is pulled roughly and Loki whirls around. "You didn't tell me." His words are accusing but also full of hurt. "Why?" Darcy stays quiet.

Derrick is confused and scared. A clap of thunder breaks the silence and the boy can't help but squeak. "Mommy!" he screams for Darcy with more urgency this time and whimpers at a strike of lightning. His mother rushes to his side and takes him in her arms. Her hands hold him securely against her chest and she whispers encouragements in his ear.

Loki watches in awe the scene unfolding. Strangely he doesn't feel out of place when the boy's eyes land on him. "Who is he, mommy?" he asks and buries his face in Darcy's shoulder.

"I am your father." Loki tells the boy. Darcy wants to smack him for being so straight forward.

"Really? You're my daddy?" Derrick is beside himself. He looks to his mother for confirmation and Darcy can do nothing but nod. She is rewarded with a million watt smile and the boy trying to make her put him down.

"Derrick!" Darcy admonishes. "Stop it."

"Let him be." Loki butts in and takes Derrick from her arms despite her protests. The boy is perfectly content with it and clings to his father like a second skin.

Darcy just knows this means trouble. Wherever Loki is, trouble is sure to follow. The only thing she wants is to keep her son safe. If anything happens to Derrick on Loki's account, Darcy swears she'll rip his head off, god or not.

Loki glances her way with amusement as if hearing her thoughts. "It's going to be alright." he tells her. Somehow Darcy finds that hard to believe. Nothing has been alright ever since she met Loki. No doubt that's not going to change. Darcy feels a headache coming. This is definitely going to hell.

"It better be."

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Well, there you go. 1000 words exactly, only for your enjoyment.

PS. I also corrected some of the grammar mistakes.


	2. Hyperion

This started out as something but turned into another things entirely. Even so I regret nothing. This is mostly pointless fluff and my side babbling. I have recently reread a popular poem in my country and was inspired.

I hope you enjoy this.

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Loki liked producing emotions from others. It was one of his favourite pastimes while he lived in Asgard. There he would plot and tinker with inventions in order to get others annoyed, or possibly scared. He was the God of Mischief after all, and honestly they deserved it. Besides, his little tricks were harmless – mostly.

Fear was also something he had enjoyed extracting from other living creatures. With it came respect, and there was a time when Loki craved respects. He relished in the terror marring the faces of Midgardians whenever he attacked. The horror in Thor's, his brother's eyes also delighted him.

But that was some time ago. Now these feelings gave him no thrill. Instead they left him empty, and he hated them for that. No, more accurately he hated the one who made them dull. That is to say, he hated Darcy Lewis. That human woman swept into his life when he was at his lowest point, tackled him with her useless righteousness and somehow she still managed to ensnare him completely. Loki was so taken with her that nothing else seemed to matter.

Of course at first he tried to annoy and scare her, but he found that the girl had a high tolerance for his attempts. She would meet them all with a derisive remark and a concealed roll of her, oh so blue, eyes. Loki would sneer and try again. Never once did he question the fact that none of his pranks were actually dangerous, no matter how desperate he got, and Darcy's lack of response simply infuriated him.

But Loki knew he lost the moment he let a new tactic unfold. Wanting to elicit something, anything from Darcy pushed the god to trap her against the wall and fuse his lips to hers. It was beneath him and juvenile but it still made a shiver go up his spine. To top it off Darcy had an unexpected and wholly pleasant reaction; she kissed back. That was how Loki discovered that he liked being on the receiving end of her lust more than he took pleasure in her distress.

From there on he concentrated his efforts on drawing out her more primal side. It was a sweet torment he would endure for all time if he could. Every chance he got, Loki used it to back her in some private place and bend her to his will while he succumbed to hers. Even so, he was aware, from previous experiences, that lust often died out fairly quick. He'd undoubtedly get bored at some point and break Darcy's heart. But he didn't pull away, he was selfish like that.

The more time he spent with Darcy, the harder he found it to let go. And at some point it stopped being about lust and went further to love. At first it was love fuelled by desire, much like lust this was built upon discreet rendezvous, deep nail marks etched in his shoulders and teeth punctures along her neck. It wasn't so much love as a primitive sort of affection born out of closeness and understanding. It was a human type of love that Loki couldn't sustain for long. He needed more.

And Darcy was never one to disappoint. She gave him what he asked for. Yes asked, because between body coupling and soul merging there was a huge difference so he felt compelled to ask for her approval. Bodies perished, images faded for they were feeble steam that would grow fainter with the passing of time. But not souls – those were everlasting. Loki wanted forever and he knew, hoped that Darcy did too. So he clung to her soul and gave her infinity and himself in exchange. It was all he could give, and everything she wanted.

So Loki loved her like an immortal. It was something boundless, unbound by rights or wrongs, timeless and eternal, real and extraordinary but perfect and not. Darcy barely understood at first and adjusting was hard – she hadn't been made for immortality but still had to exist with it. What they had, went against logic and the natural state of being but it was beautiful in a soul shattering way that would've crushed Darcy had she been any less than ceaseless.

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So? What do you have to say? I think I did a pretty good job and if you see any grammar mistakes feel free to let me know. I promise not to cut your, metaphorical, head off. Scout's honor.


	3. Pride

I present to you the third installment of "Through a broken mirror".

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If there was one thing that could not be denied about Loki, then it was that he was proud. He was certain of his worth and convinced that nothing could ever hurt him. If anything, he was the one hurting others albeit unintentionally. And it was all good even when the Asgardians threw him veiled looks of distrust. It mattered little that his brother was stronger, the favourite son and the inheritor. That hadn't bothered him until he found he was Laufey's son. He had lost everything but his own sense of worth. That morphed his benign pride into unadulterated arrogance that threatened to pull him apart and drive him mad.

Just as quick as his world had been taken down it was rebuilt with the help of those who loved him even though he was what he was. Thor didn't give up, his parents, especially Frigga, held onto him and most importantly Darcy supported him. The human woman, who he had come to know as Darcy Lewis, stood by him after his defeat at the hands of the Avengers and helped knock some sense of reality into him. He was grateful for her persistence and tied a friendship to her. She was one of the few he counted as friends.

And as most friendships between males and females go, Loki found himself being pulled in by Darcy. He started wanting her close, valuing her opinions, caring for her well being and even letting it affect his own. These feeling were almost foreign to him – close to something his family brought out in him but not really comparable. It scared and thrilled him that he could care for someone else, namely a human, like that but he embraced it wholeheartedly. Since there was nothing to be done about it Loki simply permitted Darcy to occupy his every waking thought.

But like most things in his existence, his relationship with Darcy was inevitably burdened by expanse of her mortal life and his superior condition. Then Loki did the brave gesture that was needed from him. He faced Odin in all his might and took the punishment he deserved. Frigga had told him once, a long time ago, that he'd have hardships to face but there would be one beside him to share the load with. And the telltale look in his mother's eyes when she set them on Darcy spoke volumes.

Odin passed judgement and Loki bowed his head, the awareness that he would be gaining so much humbling him. Darcy was a breath away from him, too shocked to move an inch when he was ordered to sew his mouth shut. He let the needle pierce his skin and the blood coat the enchanted string as Darcy whimpered behind him. The pain was insignificant but a promise of better times so Loki absorbed it and let the sting pass over him.

Lips sutured shut, effectively bereft of powers, he turned to Darcy. What he had been made to do gnawed at his pride but he endured it for her and himself and them as a whole. As if understanding his sacrifice she swiftly approached him with a piece of immaculate cloth in her hands. Raising it to his lips she cleaned the crimson away, her movement a sweet caress to his aching mouth. Tears shined in her half-closed eyes. Nobody said a thing. Lean arms pulled Darcy along.

Loki walked the halls to his room with Darcy in tow. She would feel changes and he had to tell her why. What they had implied trust, he wouldn't destroy that. Her first reaction was disbelief. She begged him not to toy with her feeling and Loki assured her that he wasn't. He designed the perfect the way to show her just how serious he was about it. Darcy let herself in his hands, she gave him free reign of what was his and would always be. Sharp lines and sinewy muscles sought soft curves and dipping valleys like a million other times. Hunger was sated and pain was forgotten. Hope flowed unbound and love triumphed. Limbs remained tangled and minds dipped in sweet slumber.

Frigga stopped her spinning for a moment to look in the distance. A delicate smile painted her lips and Fulla raised her eyes to her in question. Hlin and Gna shrugged and carried on with their duties. Odin's spouse closed her eyes, a sign for Fulla to get back to spinning, and contemplated her younger son's fate with a smile on her face. Things would be good.

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I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know. :) The review button is your friend.


	4. Gladiator

Okay, so I'm not entirely sure I did a good job on this. The fact is, I remembered that Tom Hiddleston played in "War horse". Being the crazy person I am I thought that maybe I could transport both Loki and Darcy there. This is what came out. I think it's a bit too much but since I'm no soldier fighting in a bloody war this will have to do.

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Darcy opened the letter with trembling hands. She wanted so badly to see what Loki had written her, to hear his voice in her head as words flooded the pages. The war had been cruel and snatched him away from her arms and Darcy found herself hating these stupid fights. She just wanted her husband back. The envelope was torn and the letter pulled from it.

_My dearest Darcy,_

_You will forgive me for writing so little to you, for I know you understand my position. It is my ardent wish to correspond with you all day long but I cannot. I have to fight for this country, for you and me. But I won't tell you of blood and wounded soldiers. I see enough of it and there is no glory, nothing poetic to be said about that. Even so I am fine; luck is on my side as I have sustained no injuries beside the ache in my heart whenever I think of you – which is very often I assure you._

_My chest smarts at the daunting lack of you near me. I long to see your smiling face; the memory of your cobalt eyes enthrals me and I find I cannot escape them even in my sleep, but fear not my heart, I would not wish them to disappear. I do not want to lose the image of you frolicking in the sun; I remember your chestnut curls raising with the wind and the sweet way you laughed haunts my dreams – in a very pleasant way. I miss you more than words can say. Can you tell, love? I have always been transparent to you. _

_When the guns and cannons are silent I am free to be with my memories. It is also the time I wish for you most, when I'm in my cot and the silence suffocates me. I feel you beside me. You hands are in mine and I can finally kiss your lips. I would like so much to be home with you, just the two of us, together beneath the covers. The darkness lets me see whatever I wish; there is so little light in this wretched place. Our candlelit home with its warmth and cosiness lulls me to sleep even though it's nothing but a foggy image in my mind. _

_In fact, if I were home right now there would be so much I'd like to do. First I'd let your hair down and bury my face in it, trying to take in as much of your sweet fragrance as I could. Yes, the scent of fresh flowers and sugary treats that belong to you. How I love it! I could spend all day running my fingers through you silky locks. I adore them almost as much as I admire your eyes. They are the gate to that beautiful soul of yours. And your lips, so soft and lush – I crave their taste. It's been so long since I've properly kiss you._

_The next thing I would do you'd like. Very much. I long for the feel of you skin against mine and that dress of yours would only be in the way. So I'd take it off slowly, just like the first time. And then I could get to what I desire; your soft, inviting flesh, it's calling to me like a siren. You have bewitched me, temptress. I am a willing slave to you so do whatever you wish with me but please, I beg you, be mine. _

_Are you blushing yet, my sweet? You should be because I'm thinking about you pretty little neck and all the marks resting there that prove you're mine. Do not be mad at me, they look so good against your fair skin and you can put as many as you want on me. Is the barging to your liking? I know it is. _

_I remember every little sound you make, and the way your breath halts in your ecstasy. You were always warm, I have no doubt you'd melt me should I take you as before. I feel heaven every time I'm with you. Do you know that you are perfect? You fit so well against me with those sloping curves of yours. I swear you were made to be held by me. You head falls perfectly against my shoulder and your fingers entwined with mine give me strength. You're my hope darling, my only motive for fighting. Once this war is over I'll come back to you and I won't leave your side as you won't leave mine. You'll be waiting? Please say you will. _

_God give me strength! I feel myself tear up by this desire to see you. Forgive me if I hadn't said it enough when in your presence, I love you. My wife, understand that you are my world. I don't know how to be without you, so forgive this battle scarred man and take him in because he is still your loving husband. Can you do that, pet? Do so for he who loves you an ocean deep. Do it because you want to; because you love me like I love you and need me just as much as I do. _

_I had a dream. A good dream. I was coming back home through the wheat fields. They were shining brilliantly in the sun. It was beautiful, so beautiful. The beaten track I know so well stretched out before me. All the colours were so vivid and enchanting. It made me miss home like a madman. But that wasn't even the best part. Do you know what waited for me at the end of the road? It was you, my pet, standing in the door behind the white fence. I rushed over to you and picked you up. I spun you round and round and you laughed and I was happy. I want this dream to come true._

_Rumour has it that the war is almost over. I know, I said the same last time but I'm sure it's real now. It must be. We can barely take it anymore. But I have you so my hope is never absent. Know that I cannot wait to hold you again. When the time comes we'll be laughing together on the front porch, watching the children run around. It will be so good, I promise. Our future is worth the wait my sweet Darcy. Just wait, for now. The time will come._

_Forever yours,_

_Loki_

Darcy read and reread the letter until she knew every word. It was cold, nothing out of ordinary for the early November nights, but she still wished Loki would be with her and they'd be happy like in his dream. She too had heard talks of peace but that had happened before. Maybe, just maybe, 1918 would bring with it the end of the shameful conflict that the whole world seemed to take perverse pleasure in.

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So, was I too over the top? What say you my faithful readers?


	5. Queenship

Yeah, new drabble. This time Loki is a bit more in character. No experiments for this one in regards to that. Enjoy!

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Darcy leaned in the doorway and stared at her oldest son pacing. She prevented a sigh from escaping her lips and took a step forward. The soft thud of her movement brought the attention of the young Jötunn prince. He stared at his mother one moment before his frozen blue eyes turned to the floor. Without a word he started pacing the lengths of his room again.

"What bothers you, my son?" Darcy asked even though she had no need to. As queen of Jötunheim, she knew everything that moved in her lands.

Eons ago she had been offered to Loki Laufeyson as means to strike a deal with the God of Mischief. And being one for survival, Darcy adapted to her new life. She first befriended her new husband and soon grew to be fond of him. When she gave birth to their first son those feelings only burrowed deeper in her heart. Soon it could be safely said she loved him.

"Leif, do not ignore me." Her voice was sharp as a knife as it cut through silence.

"Forgive me mother." Leif said wearily and brushed trembling fingers through his inky black locks. "I am tired and-"

Darcy cut him off with a snort, "Apparently not tired enough to pick fights. What possessed you to get in a fight?" she demanded and briskly hurried to him across the room. "And do not lie to me." Her hands framed his face and guided his eyes to hers. Blue clashed with blood red as Leif assumed his Jötunn form. The change from white to blue didn't faze his mother. "Speak!"

"I cannot – mother, he was absolutely improper, his words – you should've heard him – were an affront to our family. I could not stand by and hear him speak. He should count himself lucky father wasn't present –"

"Enough!" Darcy suddenly interrupted. Crimson eyes stared in bewilderment. "Do not ever, and I mean ever, do anything like this again. When you want to punish someone use your wit to bring them to their knees. Brute force should be the last option." she explained a lot more calmly. Despite her words Leif saw a flicker of something if her eyes. "This time you will be forgiven on account of your inexperience."

Before Leif could add anything else, Darcy smiled softly at him and pulled his head down to place a kiss on his forehead. "Sleep well." She said and turned around. Her long dark blue dress whirled with her; the folds shimmered in the candlelight as she walked out of the room.

Once she was in the hallway Darcy let out a sigh and closed her eyes in despair. Her lithe form slumped against the wall, the coolness of it relaxing her slightly. She stood still for a moment before continuing on to her rooms.

On the way she passed her second son's room and peeked inside; satisfied to see him, her Derrick with his ever green eyes, hunched over a thick book she walked to her daughters' rooms. Livny had long since gone to bed, her emerald eyes closed, while Dagny, her twin in everything but those eyes, sat in front of the mirror brushing her hair.

Certain that all was in order, Darcy hurried across the halls to her and Loki's room. She entered the imposing doors fully assuming that she'd be alone. Loki had gone to a peace treaty and they weren't expecting him back for another fortnight.

Upon setting foot in the room the image of her husband appeared before her. "I have finished with that blasted treaty." Forest green glinted in the dim lighting, and Darcy wasted no time in running in his arms a second later. She glued herself to him and sighed in contentment when he brushed his hand against her hair.

"Did you miss me that much, wife?" he voiced in his deep baritone, filling her ears. Her eyes set in a glare at the meaning behind his words and she punched his chest, despite knowing it had little effect on him.

With a thug she distanced herself from him. Loki smirked and Darcy scowled. "No, if fact I didn't miss you at all." She threw him a smirk of her own as a plan bloomed in her mind. "I have replaced you if you must know." Mirth danced in her eyes.

Loki's face froze in horrified disbelief until he looked in her eyes. She laughed aloud eliciting a rather loud tut from the god. "Don't ever say that again. I won't stand for it." he warned harshly but with no real malice.

"You won't?" she mocked teasingly. "Okay, then I'll behave." Darcy said in fake resignation and pouted her lips in a fashion reminding of a scolded child.

"How did you handle my absence?"

"Fairly easy husband. Although you may have to train your oldest son in the art of diplomacy." The woman responded without a trace of hesitation. "He's quickly angered I fear."

"What happened?" Loki curiously questioned and sat on the edge of the bed. He patted the space next to him and Darcy sat down too. She thoroughly presented the situation to her husband, taking care not to leave anything out.

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I have nothing left to say so I end it here. I sincerely hope you found it an interesting read.


	6. Dissection

During his long existence Loki had been introduced, and he had come to know on his own, many females, be they from Asgard, Vanaheim, Jötunheim or Midgard. However few had made a lasting impression on him. That was, of course, because Loki was very hard to amaze, and even such an emotion elicited from him couldn't guarantee the steadiness of his admiration. Nothing could faze the young god and he was more inclined to find faults in others than to look for qualities.

For instance he found the ladies, if they even deserved the title, of Asgard too exaggerated. Their smiles were too wide and faux, while their eyes remained cold and cutting. They were forever judging without knowing all the facts and they were renowned gossipers, nothing of remote importance ever escaped them and everything presented an interest. Most were airheaded and dull. The only two who had a positive image in Loki's eyes were his lady mother, Frigga, and lady Sif. At least they weren't useless like, say, Freyja, for example, whose only activity was to chase young warriors around and demand their affection. The beauty they possessed was the sole aspect Loki admired, but beauty was only skin deep.

The Vanir were no better. Freyja was a prime example. They were all vain and quite stupid and very self-sufficient in the worst of ways. Loki remembered having been infatuated with a Vanir maiden by the name of Sigyn. She had been eye-catching and meek and Loki found himself attracted to her. The romance was short-lived though, as Loki noted his partner lacked something very important: sense. Sure she was a lovely creature, a trophy wife, no doubt but the sheer deficiency of wisdom on her part killed all the sentiments he could've possibly nurtured for her. Sigyn had been perhaps his first serious crush and inevitably his first big deception in love. Perhaps it was for the better when a few centuries ago she had married Theoric, a fellow Vanir with whom she had many things in common.

Jötunn females were perhaps the easiest to understand. Angrboða had been Loki's consolation prize after the whole Sigyn fiasco. But not for one moment had he deluded himself into believing that what he felt for her was more than physical desire. While Sigyn had little cleverness to speak of, Angrboða was decidedly more intellectual, but she had little other than that to offer. The Jötunn was trapped in a tall, lanky frame with almost no curves. Her face was acceptable but nothing out of ordinary. Despite that Loki had found her understanding of him and his feelings worth a second glance. She was, after all, not barbaric like Skadi, or unreasonably conceited like Sigyn. However Angrboða was not someone he could truly love and that brought about the termination of their relationship.

Midgard had a variety of females to offer. They differed in looks and the way they conducted themselves, but were no less frivolous than the ladies of Asgard or Vanaheim and thus far beneath his concern. That was what Loki had thought until he met Darcy Lewis. There was something extremely appealing about the way she acted and spoke. She was honest, brutally so at times, and had little to no acceptance for unnecessary formality. She was not childish or rash. In truth Darcy was a curious mixture of charm and sarcasm that often baffled those who met her. Loki found the combination very interesting and endearing at the same time. Naturally, Loki decided to pursue Darcy. She had a fascinating way of responding to his attention.


	7. Visionary

The god of Mischief stared curiously at the young girl before him. She couldn't be older than twelve. Her small frame rested against a concrete wall while puffs of air materialized in front of her face. She hadn't noticed him yet, too busy staring at the falling snow to see anything else. Despite the blatant lack of awareness on her part, Loki's gaze had focused on her as soon as she came into view. There was something about this girl. He couldn't tare his eyes off of her.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, she turned her head towards him. Loki could practically see himself reflected in her blue gaze. Blue, such a lovely colour. He half expected her to shy away after the first contact, but she did no such thing, instead opting to hold his gaze defiantly. For some strange reason Loki found it amusing, hence his chuckle. The girl smiled in return. "Darcy Lewis." she said after a few seconds, her face scrunched in a serious façade and her hand outstretched. Loki wanted to laugh again. She was so strange.

"Loki Odinson." he told her and gingerly took her tiny hand in his, swaying it gently; a smile still decorated his features. He was mindful of her weak constitution and his superior strength. She grinned happily up at him and was about to say something when a person called out to her. "Darcy! Come on, we have to go."

The god stared at the source of the voice. A rather short woman with curly brown tresses stood next to a taller – at least one head taller – man who was looking in another direction. The woman looked at him suspiciously. Loki glared back at her. "I'm going now, mister. Mommy is calling for me." Darcy – interesting name – said and skipped from his side to that of her mother.

"Farewell, Darcy." Loki whispered after her. _'I hope our paths will cross again.'_ How could he have known that his thought would prove to be prophetic?


	8. Picturesque

The first time one of her children gets sick, Darcy, the Jötunn queen, is overwhelmed and helpless as the physicians asses the illness. It is her second-born, only a few months old, Derrick, who becomes ill. He has a high fever and the only thing he does is wail at the top of his lungs – which is surprisingly loud for such a tiny child – because of the discomfort. Darcy gathers the baby in her arms and tries her best to comfort him. Cradled in her arms, the child stops crying after some time and falls in a fitful sleep.

Leif, her first-born, looks at his brother in dismay, he is only in his third year of life but his red eyes scrunch in a weak and tired glare. He wants to sleep and Derrick's fussing makes that impossible even when the darkness cocoons everything in a comfortable environment for resting. Darcy, still holding Derrick, approaches Leif on the bed and smoothes his jet black hair, her white skin a striking contrast to her sons' blue. Leif yawns and leans into his mother's touch, silently hoping that Derrick wouldn't start crying anytime soon. The older boy is asleep in a matter of minutes.

The Jötunn queen sighs and walks to Derrick's crib. She puts the baby down but before she can make another move his eyes open – deep, dark crimson – and his mouth sets in a frown. Tears form in his eyes, and Darcy knows what's coming. Quickly she picks him up and takes him with her to another room. Leif just fell asleep, and she doesn't have it in her to wake him up. Gently, she rocks Derrick in her arms and sings softly. Maybe he would fall asleep again. The mother remains unaware of the gaze that is fixed on both of them until she hears steps behind her.

Darcy turns around and is almost taken aback to see her husband standing there. Loki smiles gently and takes baby Derrick from her arms. Darcy lets him; her arms are sore and she wanted a break anyway. "You look tired." he observes as they walk back to the nursery. The father sets his son in the crib with a firm order to go to sleep. Derrick doesn't even pout. He closes his eyes and goes to sleep. Darcy sighs. Why doesn't that child ever listen to her? She shrugged; Loki had always commanded respect from everyone, no exceptions.

"Not as tired as I feel, I assure you." she responds while pulling the covers over Leif who had somehow kicked them away since she'd last been in the room. Loki looks at her, and his son, and can hardly contain the adoration in his own scarlet eyes. His perfect, little family. "Your children are a handful." Darcy complains with no real irritation in her words and turns to leave, but not before pressing a kiss to her both her sons' cheeks. Loki follows her outside. The door is shut almost inaudibly. "What have you been up to today?"

He doesn't say anything. Instead his hand caresses her face and his lips plant a kiss on her forehead. "I apologise. You have to go through so much without my aid." The words are sincere and Darcy lets herself be charmed. Not for long, though. She kisses his cheek and tells him that his worry is unnecessary. "I am a queen, a wife, and a mother; there are things I must do alone. Your concern is touching. But I am strong and you know it." Loki chuckles at that. She is right as always.


	9. Gratification

Darcy knew she had pushed too far this time. But she couldn't bring herself to care; not when Loki was plundering her mouth in such a sinfully delicious way. Instead she moaned into the kiss and welcomed his – _very, very skilled_ – tongue into her mouth. Darcy lost contact with reality. And he was just kissing her. Using whatever control she had left, the woman hugged him tighter, one of her legs pulling him closer.

The need to breath made her break the kiss – a much regretted action as far as she was concerned; damn breathing – and left her panting while Loki moved lower to her neck, his hands travelling even lower. Deft fingers slid over every inch of available skin, committing to memory the way all the details came together. These touches were promises – _of eternal devotion; a life together_ – and confessions – _voicing feelings without voice_ – because Loki , despite his silver tongue, was not used to expressing his emotions.

Skin on skin sparked cold fire and intoxicating ecstasy. Loki entrusted everything – _fantasies, dreams,_ _hopes, desires, need, wishes_ – to his willing lover, who gave just as good as she got. He embedded himself inside her soul and tattooed his name across her heart. It also seemed to be the only word she was willing to sing in his ear – _Loki_ – breathily or otherwise. In response words of love tumbled past his lips in a deep, gravelly voice – _min kjære, elskede_ – in a language she didn't understand, but the meaning was clear, it rolled lazily over her. The way he said them made her shiver.

And then they were not themselves anymore. The universe exploded in a billion of little pieces and tore them apart. Slowly, ever so slowly, between deep breaths and with gentle movements, they put each other back together. There was nothing left but them.

A mass of tangled bodies and limbs later, two thoroughly exhausted lovers reclined against rumpled sheets. Whispers passed between parted lips; a testimony of love, or something along those lines.

* * *

A/N Just to explain some thing:

min kjære - my darling/dear/sweetheart

_elskede_ - beloved

Both terms are Norwegian.

Special thanks to Google Translator.


	10. Accomplice

King Laufey looks at the tiny goddess that the All-Father had given him. He has no use of her, but she's a peace offering, a daughter of Asgard. Her blue eyes study him intently but her red lips don't part. He contemplates her fate. What should be done with her? Then an idea reaches him. Perhaps his son should like her. And why not? She's young, attractive and from what he's heard a woman of wit. Yes, she's make a fine wife for his eldest son, Loki.

"Tell me girl," he starts, "are you willing to do as I ask of you?"

"Yes." she says after a few moments of silence. "I have to."

"Clever child." The King smirks. "Would you oppose to a marriage to my eldest son?"

The girl seems to think of his proposition. "No. I've heard that Prince Loki is an intelligent, fair individual, if a bit bent towards mischief. Marrying him would meet no opposition from me." The girl is aware of her position, good.

Out of nowhere, his son appears. Tall, with dark blue skin, Loki towers over the Asgardian girl. His red eyes study her and she's doing the same. Laufey depart, leaving them alone.

"What shall I call you, my lady?" Loki asks seemingly indifferent. He is perfectly polite but his eyes are burning her up, sucking her in a red vortex.

"My name is Darcy." she answers placidly. "You may call me as you see fit."

" 'That so? Very well." He bows and takes her hand. His cool lips touch the back of her palm. "How long do you wish to wait?" She looks confused. "To get married. I'll need a partner soon." And it is true; one cannot become ruler without a wife.

"Whenever you wish. But I'd prefer sooner rather than later. Your plan was simply brilliant." Her words are sweet and inviting. "You know, it was my choice to come here."

"Oh, I know." the dark prince whispers. "There is no escape now." There's a warning somewhere in there but Darcy ignores it. "I won't let go after this. Ever."

"Good." she murmurs back. "I wouldn't want you to."


	11. Arrival

Darcy dips the rag in clean water as Loki enters the massive tent, flaps swaying in his wake. She barely looks up before her vision is bathed in violent red over dark blue. Everything is painted in blood. Scarlet drips from the tips of his hair while other strands stick to his face; scarlet also stains his armours and stretches over his skin. A grimace settles on Darcy's lips at the fearsome image Loki exhibits. He doesn't seem hurt, but she can't really tell with the protective coverings obstructing her view and the way he keeps himself tall and proud.

She beckons him over with a crook of her finger. His helmet meets the ground, followed by the chest plate and various other pieces of his armour. Darcy puts them away after cleansing the proof of Loki's victory off. Then she turns back to him, throwing the piece of cloth in the lukewarm water. Her attention is solely on him now as he sits down and lets her divest him of his blood-soaked tunic. The garment is flung away with little concern and the wet rag is retrieved in a span of five seconds. She is not hasty, just swift.

With feathery movements, the woman brushes water to his face, removing all the red, leaving behind clear, dark blue. The delicate ridges adorning his face are visible now and Darcy traces them with the tips of her fingers. Loki leans into her touch, a content growl quaking through him and seeping into her frame. The warrior is at peace now that the fight is over. She smiles and goes on with the washing. She sweeps and scrubs until all the blood is gone and the naturally blue skin takes its place. Satisfied with her work, Darcy puts the instruments away.

Two strong hands grip both of her sides and pull her into his lap. Loki's face breaks out in a grin, which is contagious as Darcy can't help mirroring it. There is something in his fiery eyes that makes her melt against him despite his customary coldness. One movement later, she's underneath him, dainty fingers tangling in sleeked back, raven hair. She can almost feel her pulse thrumming beneath his lips but the loud beating of her heart distracts her. Frosty lips brush against her own and she can't stop the mewl leaving her. The sound in swallowed by him.

Her hands move, as does his. At the end of the day, Loki is a man who, despite being a strong warrior, needs to get and give what everyone else does: love. If it means that she can hold him as she does now and burn together with him as one, she had no qualms with it. The world be damned, at Loki's side she can neither wish, nor care for nothing else, for anything else. He seems to be of a mind with her when he whispers, "Stop thinking, just feel." And he's back to stealing her breath away.


	12. Venue

Rolling out of bed, Darcy groaned unhappily, at being cold and alone, and levelled a glare to the small cell phone going off on the nightstand. The device shook against the polished wood with its customary annoying chime. Frustrated that she had been woken up at the ungodly hour of three in the morning – or so the digital clock showed – Darcy picked the device harshly and pressed the answer button a little too firm, without even looking at the caller's name. "It's three in the morning, this better be good!" she spoke, releasing the aggravation.

"As good as you make it, sunshine." the person on the other end replied. "I'm glad you have your sweet disposition this early in the morning. Did I wake you, darling?" The question was unnecessary and used for the purpose of irritating her further.

"You miserable sod!" she muttered acidly as she stripped of her pyjamas, while wondering how exactly he had sneaked out of bed without her noticing, and started looking for clothes to wear. "Loki, it's too early for me to deal with your lovely personality. What do you want?" This had to be work related. It had to, because if it wasn't, Darcy would skin him alive.

She pulled a pair of black jeans on as she put the phone on speaker and set it on the nightstand again. "There's been another victim." A brief pause followed in which Darcy pulled a white t-shirt on. "Female. Young, mid twenties. Redhead. Same method as the others. Down to the missing middle finger; it's all the same." Darcy snatched her leather-like jacket and put the phone out of speaker mode.

"Where are you?" she asked, grabbing her bag and slipping her feet into a pair of black sneakers as Loki rattled the address. "See you as soon as I get there."

.

.

.

"So, it seems we have a serial killer on our hands." Darcy told Loki as they sat to the side while other police personnel sealed the crime scene. "Think we can catch the bugger before his next hit?"

Loki stared in confusion for a few seconds before responding, "I don't know. There's something odd about this one." Darcy smirked dryly and muttered under her breath. "No, listen. This guy seems to have something personal against each of these women. The problem is that besides the red hair, they have nothing in common."  
"Could be a religious freak." she offered hesitantly. "Wait! The index finger." Darcy said and took a moment to think. "Did any of these women take archery classes at any point?"

"Archery? Of course. I think they did mention this about Miss Karg." Loki uttered, awe creeping in his voice as he made his deductions. "What was that about religion?"

"Well, in the middle ages people with red hair were considered evil or something like that. I remember speaking in a history class, a few years back, about this but I haven't retained any important details." Darcy explained as she pulled out her phone and took a note to look more into it. "What do we do now?"

"I thought it'd be obvious Darcy." taunted her dark haired partner. "We'll look over all the data again."

"Goody!" answered the female unenthusiastically. She was feeling a bit queasy seeing such a mutilated body. "I'll have nightmares about this for a long time." The prediction wasn't even unfounded. She tended to think too hard about the cases that popped her and Loki's way, thus incorporating them in her dreams.

"Don't worry, love, I'll chase those night terrors away." he reassured her and slipped an arm around her waist. "Come on. Let's go home and look over those files."

* * *

The prospect of having Darcy and Loki as a crime-solving couple was just too good to pass up. Anyway, I hope you find this as enjoyable to read as it has been for me to write.

Do tell me your thoughts.


	13. Hands

_They say that at the beginning humans were neither male, nor female; they were both, they were whole. But fearing their power, the gods divided them in two halves; one male, the other female. Like this they were doomed to search for the soul-mate without the guarantee that their other half would be found. But a life bereft of one's soul-mate was empty, almost useless and there were many who could not reach theirs._

_Taking pity of the humans, the higher being residing in heaven allowed them to know one thing about their other halves. The name. Each person would have the name of their destined pair written in the palm of their hand. It would permeate itself into their skin, letting the know the same they searched for. So the gods decreed to soothe the blow delivered when they split the humans in two. _

Darcy closed the book with a thud that screamed of finality. The words she had read left ghosts in front of her eyes and a metallic taste in her mouth. She throws the tome against the wall, silently fuming because she's Darcy and at this age having something set in stone is too much to handle. She's never been much of a follower. Her mother doesn't come up and for that she's grateful. Of course then the reason of her mother not coming up flashes in her mind and all that gratefulness dissipates. Her father is sick again and they can't afford to keep him hospitalized so his wife looks after him.

A bit calmer now, Darcy lifts her right hand in the dim light and pulls her fingerless glove off. The black material slides against her skin pleasantly and falls to the floor with a soft whoosh. She peeks at the palm in front of her eyes and there's a frown.

The script is cursive and elegant with loops and well defined edges. Those four letters inscribed inside her hand are simply beautiful. She mouths the name quietly, testing it on her tongue. "Loki." The syllables pour out and it's almost like she's chanting. Of course, her mind can't help a snide remark; because, really, who names their child Loki? It's so strange and uncommon. But then she realises she shouldn't be the one to point her finger; her name isn't exactly common either. Who names their only daughter Darcy? "Mom and her love for Jane Austen. But really now, Darcy?!"

She remembers her mother saying that an uncommon name will make it easier to find your soul-mate. But the she would think so considering she's Allison and her father is Damian. Those are rather widespread names and make finding your other half a bit difficult at least. So Darcy breathes deeply and holds her hand to her heart. "There can't be many Lokis out there." she reasons, because obviously there aren't many myth-obsessed parents around. But there must be some, she rationalizes because her friend Jane has _Thor_ scrawled messily across her palm.


	14. Palms

_The ancient writings speak of a creature with such power that the gods decided splitting it in two halves was the only thing to stop it. And so the first man and woman happened. They were frail and thin, pain coursing through their veins at the shock of being separated. What was once now had been forcibly broken with scant a way of joining again. Human were now at the mercy of the gods; yet the deities themselves depended on these newly weakened beings to bring offerings. One cannot exist if forgotten, not even the inhabitants of heaven._

_In their anger the ones called humans started neglecting their duties. The altars were dark and in ruins, the powers of the divinities fading like the smoke of their being. But what is once done cannot be undone. The humans could not be put back together in a single body, but there could be a union. Fainter than before this new joining of bodies represented the perfect solution; the humans would receive a less powerful way of merging together and the gods would revel in their gratitude and be lavished with gifts, recovering from the suffered blow. _

Loki puts _Plato_ down before he can read about predestines names, the soft sound almost a caress. He has read it over and over again and the spine of the book is wrinkled now. He doesn't bother to put it back in its place knowing all too well that he'll open it once more. Frowning he leans back in his chair and blames his brain for not quieting down. There are too many thoughts in his head. Approaching the matter differently, Loki tries to think of what he's read; he knows it by heart but there is mystery in this tale that he's unable to touch.

With a soft smile, one he doesn't use outside the walls of his room, he glances at his left hand. Marble skin is covered by a gauzy, yet strong material of emerald green. His mother said it matched his eyes. Loki cares little for that but still nodded his head accordingly and offered a smile. Carefully, almost as if he's afraid the dark haired boy pulls the glove off and places it on the desk, next to _Plato_; which is fitting.

Cool air hits his hand but Loki doesn't mind. His eyes are trained on his palm where a name is etched. He can't help the smile that overcomes him as the letters display rough edges and a trembling script. Whoever this Darcy is, she's got terrible handwriting. Loki decides this will be the first thing he tells her.

He often wonders what this girl is like; if she truly is his soul-mate he hopes she's nothing like Sif with her wiles and brutality. But then again he's not sure he wants that. Then he realises he doesn't know what he wants. It's a relief when Thor comes in to complain that Jane is much too common a name.


	15. Fingers

Meeting Darcy hits him like a train, full force, almost knocking him down. Loki doesn't expect it, which makes the situation all the more pleasing. He's out with Thor, after much cajoling on the blonde's side. Like any other time, his brother drags him around completely unaware of being annoying. Loki doesn't complain; there's no use in it anyway. The younger brother simply follows Thor, one step behind.

But all of a sudden there's a tingling in his palm. Loki tries to brush it off. It doesn't work; as a result he tentatively scratches softly with the tips of his fingers. It doesn't stop. He sighs and shoves his hand in the pocket of his black pants. Raising his eyes, something catches his attention. Although the street is busy, a figure stands out in the mass of people. She is rather short with dark chestnut hair and an hourglass shape. She is nothing special so it baffles Loki that she's captured his attention. What is it about her that attracts him? The realisation crops on him like a brick; she's glowing. Not the figurative 'she's happy and shiny', no; she's literally surrounded by light. The itch in his palm grows tenfold.

At the same time one Darcy Lewis glares at her glove-clad hand. The name written on it burns, rather painfully, and she has no idea why. It's not like she poured vinegar on it again; she did do that once and ended up feeling sick for days. Her mother said it was probably because her soul-mate wasn't very fond of the bitter substance. Still, right now her hand feels like a needle cushion. She rubs it against the material of her jeans and moodily looks up, eyes set in a glower.

The pain is all but forgotten when she sees a tall, dark male in front of her. For a moment she stares, not completely comprehending why her breath catches in her throat or why he looks like he's made of shiny shadows. The green of his eyes crashes with her coffee-coloured orbs and holds. It takes her another moment to realise he's approaching her. And she simply can't move away, even if she wanted to, not that she wants to.

True to character the words that come out his mouth are, "Your writing is simply appalling." She gawks at his but doesn't say a thing before he adds, "Nice to meet you, Darcy." He smirks.

"You write like a girl." It's retaliation oh her part more than complaining. She does find his writing appealing, after all. "Not sure I can reciprocate as happily, Loki." The smile she gives him is genial.

It's only minutes since they've seen each other and already it feels like they've known one another long before. Loki extends his glove covered hand to her and she does the same. The prickle is pleasantly muted as their hands touch and they both smile at the contact.

Everything is perfect until Thor yells, "Loki! Who's this?"


	16. Lingère

A companion of sort to _Arrival_.

* * *

Not for the first time, Darcy wakes up alone in a tangle of furs and sheets. She doesn't have to think very hard to know where Loki is. As King, it is only his duty to lead the army to victory; he's out there fighting, making his way through the enemy lines taking many down with a blow of his weapon of choice. It will be awhile before he comes back. The knowledge dampers her mood just a little bit, but the she reminds herself that Loki wouldn't let himself die out there; he sees no glory in such demises.

Before the war broke out, hours upon hours were spent in the training area by Darcy as she watched the warriors practice. More often than not Loki was with them, unless state affairs detained him, honing his skills with blunt swords and practice bows. There is no doubt in her mind that he is as deadly as he is graceful. If she closes her eyes, Darcy can almost see him make a swipe and foes falling in its wake. A fond smile tugs at her lips and blue eyes open. She trusts him to come back into her arms victorious.

In the distance the far sound of metal clashing against metal can be heard. Darcy wisely ignores it; for her as long as Loki comes back, nothing else matters. If it's not his blood staining the clothes and armour she can breathe with ease. The Queen has learned long ago that the general rule is as follows: kill or be killed. She'd rather see her King tear through his opponents a thousand times over than to have him lifeless in her hold. It is for that reason she refuses to stay behind safe walls when he rides out to battle.

There are times she wonders why he lets her join him in the camp but no further. It's mainly that primal instinct of his to protect her and partly her ineffectual skills with a sword, the rational part of her says. Not that she minds too much; Darcy hasn't the strength in her to take lives. She is the merciful and gentle to Loki's cruel and vindictive at certain times. If memory serves her right, he once revealed to her how important she was using these words, "You are my sanity, the only one I trust more than any other."

Darcy curls back in her nest of furs. There is still time left before sunset and she knows he won't be back until the light fades. Her eyes close again and she wills her mind to comfort her with thoughts of Loki. It is so much easier with his scent clinging to the covering wrapped around her. In complete silence she waits to hear familiar footsteps and feel his presence along with the crackling power he exudes. The flimsy walls feel very much like a prison in his absence. For the moment she is content with just waiting for him.


	17. Tread

Lady Darcy walks, her steps light, back straight and head held high. She crosses the golden floor of Asgard carefully, followed by the palace maids who chatter cheerfully. The crown on her head shines in all its splendour, diamonds glistening in the light of torches. With every movement the veils making the skirt of her dress glide behind her. Blue eyes are focused ahead, serious and devoid of all emotion; they stand out on her pale face framed by almond locks in which jewels glitter. Her mouth is a straight line, almost a frown.

Something is amiss. One such as the Lady should wander about with a smile on her face. Her mouth was made for laughing, not frowning. Those cobalt orbs were meant to shine brightly and not dully look forward. Lady Darcy should glow with happiness, as any previous Queen of Asgard. Yet she doesn't. What could be the reasons? She is wife to Thor, a righteous and handsome king; she is mother to the prince; she rules over the Realm Eternal. What more could she possibly want?

Gossipers whisper of the Jötunn King, Loki son of Laufey. Centuries ago in a clash of forces, Thor and Loki had begun a war. It was during this time that the Lady had fallen in the hands of the Frost Giants who delivered her to their ruler. Rumour had it that the foreign sovereign's icy heart warmed at the sight of her. That had to be what kept her safe in those savage lands. Two long decades the Æsir Queen had spent there – it was unknown in what fashion – before her rightful husband came to her rescue.

The Queen was brought back decked in emerald silks, porcelain skin covered in blue paint and tribal tattoos. As far as anyone could tell she was unharmed. They had given a feast in her return, hoping she would bestow a radiant smile upon them like she used to. Her lips had turned, but the warmth was gone from the gesture. It was decided that she needed more time when she shrank back from her husband's touch, face pale and lips trembling. They knew not even half the truth.

Months later Darcy birthed a child. There was an heir to the throne. A boy with dark hair and sea green eyes that most insisted were blue. Soon the King began taking other lovers, mistresses renown for their beauty and grace; by and by he entered his wife's chambers only to depart in minutes. Darcy has her son, with his almost green eyes and almost inky hair. He is almost Loki – half Loki – and for her it is enough. The King had accepted the child as his own for whatever reason, but refuses to set eyes on him. Secretly, Darcy smiles at the thought that her child would one day be King.

So now, Darcy walks the golden halls of Asgard. Her mind wonders about the Frost Land's king. Sometimes she sees him in dreams and wakes with his name on her lips – Loki – always a whisper. Darcy is the Lady; she is Queen of Asgard by title and Queen of Jötunheim in heart. Noble in both respects. Yet never fully one or the other. She walks so she won't run and hopes so she won't fall prey to insanity. Lady Darcy walks.

* * *

What did I just write? To be honest, I was trying to fall asleep when this popped up. Enjoy my midnight work.


	18. Heel

Loki sits in his tent, documents strewn all over, and he holds his sword in one hand while the other cleans the blood off. The peace lulls him in a sweet sense of security. His eyes narrow and he shakes his head to make the feeling go away. War is raging outside; he can't afford to dream of safety. In his mind, Loki fervently curses the new Æsir king; damn that foolish and conceited boy for starting this. Of course, as the Jötunn well knows, Thor is no boy; and while he is indeed thoughtless he may prove to be a fierce opponent.

Two warriors enter the tend disrupting the stillness. They drag a person along, despite the clear struggle put up. Loki takes a moment to analyze the woman, It was not uncommon for his soldiers to bring him entertainment. It was a custom among his people that warriors brave in battle could meet the king. The purpose wasn't to bed her; there were courtesans enough for that. Loki simply wanted a partner to converse with. And who better than somebody with wit and courage? He is about to dismiss them when he recognizes the person they bring. How could he not?

She is Darcy. Loki would know here anywhere. When he and she, and Thor among others, were younger attending Odin's feasts together had been something of a habit for them. Since taking his father's throne Loki rarely had the time for balls and feasts. His people need him, always. It is in that moment that he vaguely remembers hearing that Darcy had been promised to Thor, some weeks ago. She was en-route to Asgard's golden halls when she was caught in the fight, if her once lavish dress is anything to go by. But why would she pass through Jötunheim. She should have known it wasn't safe.

There is recognition in her eyes and for a brief moment Loki's heart strains against his ribcage. Loki has always been fond of her. Darcy wastes no time in pulling away from the retreating guards and runs to wrap her arms around him. He wonders if she knows what she's doing. She seems all too aware, for a moment later she pulls back as if remembering something. Calmly she tells him that she travels to Asgard, which he knows, to wed Thor, another fact he already knows. It's not that her voice holds anything other than accuracy, or that her eyes speak of sadness; Loki knows her, and this is not something she wants. He offers to keep her with him. She agrees all too easily. Somewhere Thor screams in rage at the loss of his bride-to-be.

Days are long during wartime. Swords clash and clatter; bodies fall and warriors rise. Nights are even longer and Loki has been through countless of them on his own. Darcy had been keeping him company lately, or maybe it's not so novel when speaking of a decade. The main point is that she is there with him all the time and whispers to him of forever. Forever is not long at all. There are times when Loki senses she wants a deeper bond; Darcy doesn't voice it but she hopes he can understand it. He does and it takes all he has not to indulge her. And himself. He could lose all he is so easily with her. He can't do that, not when Asgard's armies loom closer.

But one may not hold out for an eternity. And Darcy is adamant. She makes him fall in love and Loki is helpless to refuse her anything. Forgetting the world for a moment he builds something bigger than them with her. Had anybody told them that years from this point they'd be apart, both would believe it to be nonsense. After all, Darcy knows Thor is no match for Loki's genius no matter how much more brute force the Asgardian holds. Her heart gets caught on his sleeve every time he goes out in the fray; she'd have to be blind to not see Thor's seal on a letter demanding she be given back. She wishes she didn't know; ignorance is bliss, they say. She still has ten blissful years ahead of her.

It takes Thor a decade more to breach all the defences. The blonde god is a storm cutting through the enemy lines. Darcy wants to scream because soon enough Loki rises up to the challenge. The fight is nothing if not brutal. What makes her crack is that Loki is knocked to the ground, Thor one step away from killing him. Think fast. She jumps from her hiding place, going against what Loki had told her, and runs to Thor. This is the only way she can save the one she loves. Thor is momentarily distracted and the bloodlust dissipates ever so slowly. Darcy can't look away as they bind Loki in chains; her heart cries out and her lips stay shut. Ruby eyes look at her in understanding and something like sorrow. She can't look away, not even as Thor pulls her from the scene.

What she doesn't see is the smile that's on his face. Loki knows something she doesn't; she will figure it out soon. His love is not the only thing he has given her. The Jötunn King knows that Thor is prideful more than anything. He won't take Darcy if she already belongs to another. The ancient laws claimed that a female belonged to her mate only after she has given him a child. Proof of their union. Loki has been very careful in case Thor happened to succeed in shipping Darcy to Asgard. The chains rattle. It won't be long until Thor knows just why Loki has refused to give him Darcy.

* * *

Loki just isn't one to be easily defeated. Shall I write another piece and make a wholesome trio?


	19. Sole

_Chains rattle. The sound of metal dragging across stone cuts through the dank air. Darkness reigns supreme in this shingly hell. It's so very dark. So cold. The chill seeps through skin and bones, settling unpleasantly in crevices like a blade slashing through. There is a force down in these dungeons even though nothing is moving. But this power chokes everything in its wake. It's scary, the way something dormant can be so powerful. A small clink rings along the walls and the cold grows bitterer. The shadow of a body can barely be seen, but it's there._

_Jon gathers light in his hand and steps a bit closer. He grasps almost inaudibly at the figure bound to the wall with heavy chains. He knows this man, the young one realizes with a start. But he still doesn't know who this figure is. The face is like a far-off memory, shining blue in the dim glow. Black hair, tangled and unkempt, falls down his shoulders. The stranger seems to be sleeping; there is no movement, not even breathing. Jon has the sudden urge to shake him just to make sure he's alive. Something tells him this man is important. As if hearing the mental urge twin pools leak from under cobalt skin. Sea green stares into ruby red._

He wakes with a start, eyes darting about the room in a frenzy. Like always he is alone in his room. Jon likes it better. Being alone. People think he doesn't hear. His people are sure that their prince is deaf and blind. The Æsir prince knows why his supposed father refuses to look him in the eyes. He also knows why Lady Darcy, his mother, keeps to her rooms, her sapphire orbs rimmed red. Jon can hear her cries, ever since he was old enough to analyze he knew that he was no more and no less than a prisoner.

As a little boy his mother used to tell him stories on lands covered in snow and warriors with frozen skin and eyes of fire. Instinctively he knows that he is not this king's son but he is a king's son nonetheless. Jon is a prince trapped in his own rooms. Rarely is he allowed to leave them. Why? He does not know. Lady Darcy comes to visit whenever King Thor permits it; which is a rare occurrence these days. No matter. Darcy had made sure to teach her son to use the magic that flowed through his veins. He can escape at any time, but he cannot leave his mother to suffer here alone.

Perhaps the answer is in the dungeons. Jin has been dreaming of them and that strange, familiar man ever since he remembers. He takes a moment to think. And then two more. To the dungeons, he decides, quietly whispering words to set his magic free. A wave of heat takes over him and his eyes close while he disappears. Jon has done this many times before. During such times he feels free, unbound, just as he does in his dreams. Maybe that man will agree to help if Jon sets him free. It is possible with a bit of luck.

The darkness is exactly as he remembers it, all consuming and cold and suffocating. Straining his eyes doesn't help. Jon gathers magic in his fist and shapes it in a light which pierces the surroundings with its glow. There are no guards; it's curious but not unexpected, those locked here have no chance of escaping. Pushing through the corridors, Jon tries to find the one he is looking for. This truly is a horrible place. The boy shudders at the thought that the man he is supposed to call father could imprison anybody here. Even more disconcerting is the thought that his true father is incarcerated in this prison.

"You're finally here. I've been waiting." It's a voice he knows, a voice that has spoken to him in dreams before. Jon feeds the light more power and he can finally see the face. Blue skin and crimson eyes. Jon bites his tongue. "My son." There is awe and affection mixed in that oddly rough voice.

"Father." Jon replies shyly. "I've come to set you free."

* * *

I know I've kept you all waiting but I have a good reason. You see school has started again for me and it's my last year. This means I have to be extra attentive and concentrate on my school work. The first week was a nightmare. I'll update when I can. 


	20. Quicksand

There are tidbits of sunshine and happiness dancing in front of her eyes. Small fragments bathed in ethereal light call her, ever so enticingly, and Darcy is hard-pressed not to reach out to them. Red coats her vision and for one short moment she is confused. Where has the happiness disappeared to? Still, warm, red treks its way down her face. Or she thinks it's her face. Now Darcy's acutely aware that she can't feel much of anything. But she can tell with unwavering certainty that the life giving serum, so very precious to her, is swiftly leaving her body. Strange that she should feel so very lethargic and not do anything about it. Perplexingly enough, she can't recall a reason to fight. Her mind is too muddled and maybe that hit to the head she took is aggravating things. Maybe she cracked her skull open and that's where the blood is leaking from. Her eyes sting, Darcy realizes briefly, and the taste of metal floods her mouth. There is something she is forgetting. But what is it? She simply can't recall. Darcy tells herself it's not important if she can't remember it. And still, whatever it is, it lurks in the shadows of her exhausted mind.

Most unexpectedly her mind wraps around what is happening to her. Darcy suddenly knows she's going. In a small fit of panic she tries to get up but the only things she manages to do is choke on her own blood, in all the agitation. How did it get to this? The memories elude her but she knows it's not something without value. Somehow she manages to cough blood but it's still making her gag. At least the panic is gone. Of course Darcy doesn't want to die yet. Who would? But what keeps her here? It's essential, whatever it is. Whatever he is. Whoever he is. It dawns upon her that her reason is not an it. It's a he. Or is it them? It definitely involves a he, and maybe it is a them. Her mind, in a moment of lucidity, whispers it's an us. Darcy wonders who us is.

Bereft of all her energy, Darcy is slow on the uptake. A smooth smile makes her heart tremble while a distinct, soft voice fills her eyes with tears. Jet black hair flits before her and cold feels warm against her. For some odd reason she pictures Norse myths, a strange name for a hammer, which she can barely pronounce, and a devilishly handsome being she should have kept well away from. Darcy has never been one for rules. She wanted what she wanted, and what she wanted she usually got. It's the small image of a boy that makes her want to cry out. He looks at her with bright eyes and she wants to take him in her arms. It's her motherly instinct, she realizes with a start. And he, the boy, is her son, all bright and cheery. Her arms ache, Darcy wants to fill them with something but she can barely move them. And then there is another, the dark prince who extends his hand to her. She can't reach back to him.

It's so unfair. Rebelling against it is too much of an effort for her though. She's not ready to go yet. She'll never be ready to go. Darcy wants to stay. She wants to hug her son and tell her prince of the ice lands how exceptionally stupid he is for not seeing his own worth. How can someone so smart be so stupid? And she won't get to see her son grow. That hurts. It hurts that she won't be able to be by his side, comfort him, love him. Would they get over it? Over her? Like she never even existed. The world would keep spinning. The sun would rise again. Only it won't be the same. She won't be here anymore. Darcy thinks that she remembers their names. The names of her loved ones, she can almost taste them on her tongue. It's bittersweet. And realty crushes her with all the power of a brick wall falling onto her. The sweetness fades away and leaves bitter, metallic ashes in its wake. There is not much she can do now, trapped in her flesh and bones; they drag her down.

.

.

.

_Loki lifts Darcy with ease, refusing to acknowledge the blood sliding down his front. There is still life in there and while she's still breathing he won't give up._

* * *

I can't even begin to explain this. I blame my sudden craving for tragedy. And while I had half a mind to leave it ending all sad and whatnot, I'm not that into tragedy.


	21. Suitability

Loki has a daughter. Problems ensue...

* * *

There were many things to fear in life. Too many, in fact, to ever plan an escape from every unpleasant situation. Loki considered himself to be above most of them, though. But he wasn't. At least not anymore. And it was all Darcy's fault. That infuriating woman was to blame for this misfortune. Damn the wholly unsophisticated, yet captivating female for managing to make this real. The human had the gall to attract him into her bed, then make sure he never wanted to leave it once she was done with him. And as if that had not been enough, she went and got herself pregnant and gave birth to a boy, whom was his father's pride and joy. He had never intended to tie himself to a mortal and her progenitors. But it didn't stop there, she had just had another one.

The most horrifying thing was that this time the woman had managed to outdo herself, in the worst way possible. She had given him a daughter. A tiny bundle of exquisite appearance with fine bone structure, milky, soft skin and the most beautiful bluish-green eyes he had ever seen. Iselinn looked up at her father and Loki could feel his heart melting. He raised his face in the general direction of his wife and scowled. "Look what you've done now. She's gorgeous." Therein laid the problem. His daughter was magnificent. Even too much so. He glared at the male physician who cooed at the baby.

Darcy rolled her eyes at him. "Isn't she? She'll be the most beautiful girl here." She was clearly not impressed with his antics. "I bet she'll have a lot of attention, my pretty girl."

His exasperating spouse was a proud mother who didn't see the error of her ways. His daughter was only a few days old and already her good looks turned heads. Loki shuddered at the thought of her growing up and attending Odin's feasts. Other gods would see her there. Damn them. In that moment he decided that his daughter would never be subjected to the clumsy fawning of those oafs. With a bit of luck he would be able to keep her to her own room, secluded and safely away from blundering idiots. If only he could convince Darcy of the necessity of his actions.

"Can you imagine that twelve years from now she may come and tell us about her first crush?" Darcy gushed, a dreamy look on her face.

"Over my dead body!" the god hissed, eyes narrowing into slits. "There will be no boys until I'm dead."

"You are exaggerating. It's not like she'll grow up anytime soon. She's only a few days old."

"But they are looking at her!" he shot back furiously then glared again for good measure at the doctor. Suddenly he was very angry at her that she made him care so much. It was all her fault.

The mother smiled with a look of pride on her features. "Let them."

Loki felt his heart crack in anxiety. How could she say that? His heart was galloping inside his chest. Was it possible for a god to have a heart attack? If so, then he might be the victim of one.

"Let them not!"

* * *

Suitors beware!


	22. Cookware

Or _**Know your way around the kitchen:**_ _Darcy's guide to using a __frying pan_, with the special appearance of one well-loved God of Mischief.

* * *

"Oh, for the love of-" Darcy stopped midsentence and squinted. Of all the things that happened during rainstorms blackouts bugged her out the most. This became especially clear on nights such like these ones when she had just finished an entire season of one horror show that made her terrified of her own shadow. "Where the heck did I put that stupid light?"

The wooden floor squeaked under her feat and she hurried forward, accidentally bumping her toes against a chair. Spitting out a string of curses Darcy bent to massage the abused appendages. Her next move was to avoid bumping into anything again. Through the darkness she made her way to the kitchen. Once there the bespectacled woman grabbed the first thing she could reach, planning to use it as protection. The rain was beating a steady rhythm against the window, lightning accompanied by thunder occurring every now and then. "Thor, nice of you to play the soundtrack of my life," mumbled Darcy rather sarcastically.

Behind her something made a loud noise. Rather like a soldier Darcy spun around bringing her weapon down on whatever, or whoever, the unlucky disturber was, all the while she screamed bloody murder. Her unfortunate victim grunted at the impact but did not move. Darcy was about to deliver a second blow when the lights flicked on.

Loki stood before her, a haughtily and mildly annoyed expression firmly plastered on his face. Emerald eyes flashed with warning and for some unknown reason it provoked Darcy. It never did occur to her that her mighty weapon was in fact a frying pan and that the image presented was absurd at best. Again she hurled it at him. This time Loki dodged letting the pan clatter to the floor and scowled at the woman. "What in the name of Yggdrasil are you doing, foolish human?"

"Teaching you how to use a door like any other civilized being on Earth!" she yelled and promptly dashed to the floor, fingers curling around the discarded object. She brought herself up and advanced towards a very irritated Loki. "Is it so hard for you to do this one little thing?"

"Daft woman! I can perfectly well transport myself anywhere I want to go; why would I use the door?" he asked, utterly confused about the fuss she was making.

"You are missing the point Loki. It is not polite to just pop over, or whatever you call it, at someone's house." Darcy said slowly as if explaining this for a child.

Rolling his eyes, Loki leaned in, closing the distance between them. "I do what I want." he whispered against her mouth.

"The hell you do," growled one cross Darcy, a mere second away from intimately reacquainting him with the pan again.

Just as she was about to pound him senseless he vanished into thin air. With a sigh of despair Darcy put the pan back on the counter and brushed her fingers through her tousled hair. "At least the light is on now."

* * *

Humorous piece for the beginning of this year. A short little thing that came to me out of nowhere. I hope it brought a smile to your face. :)


	23. Lament

Darcy Lewis is seriously considering having a very loud and noticeable fit. Or perhaps the right thing to do would be to brush it off as one tasteless joke. The thing is that she can do neither. There is no point in going mad, nor does she feel like laughing. She simple stands on shaky feet, like a foal on spindly legs, moments away from falling. The fact that there is nothing but darkness underneath her is not very reassuring and besides Loki has asked - ordered that she stay where he left her. "Prick. Like he has any right to tell me what to do!" Just because he has issues and is somewhat like Batman doesn't mean I'm some tart ready to take this behaviour. " Doesn't he know I'm Wonder Woman and I'll kick his ass?"

By now she should be having an apoplectic fit. But she can't bring herself to react. Loki is highly convinced that he's doing the right thing and Darcy sees no way out of this. Her boyfriend – or whatever he is after spending half a year in a semi-functional relationship with her – is unleashing hell on Earth, literally, and she's cosily sitting here, doing nothing. It's not like she can stop him, he won't let her hold that much sway over him, that's for sure. Somewhere in the afterlife her mother is shaking her head and berating her daughter for having been so foolish. She can almost hear her voice, "Darcy, of all the people you could have fallen in love with, why him?" However this is the least of her problems.

There is no right answer for that besides the fact that they just click together. Besides, Darcy has always felt that her mother made it a point to understand only what she wanted to understand. Shrugging she sits down cross legged and takes her iPod out. It may be a while before Loki gets back and she refuses to die of boredom; not before she gets his ears ringing. Darcy is not mad that he's destroying the world. As far as she's concerned the world deserves it. No, the problem is in the fact that there's a good chance he'll go down too. And what then? She'll be all alone in the middle of freaking nowhere?!

Impatiently she pokes the barrier around her. "This is stifling." In the distance something lights the sky. Like a planet exploding. Or a star. "Or maybe the Earth." Mentally she throws a few choice words at Loki. Couldn't he have postponed this until the second part of The Hobbit, her current obsession, was released? She really wanted to see some more of Thorin's majestic-ness. And Kili and Fili too. Not to mention Thranduil and a throng of other lovable, or not, characters. Damn Loki and his speedy demise of the world. Holding back a sigh, Darcy resigns herself to the situation; no more handsome humans, dwarves, hobbits and elves for her. Ultimately her decision is this: if she can't get her fix, Loki will have to stand a cranky companion unless he saves the bit of the world that counts to her.

* * *

Loki's insensitivity just hit critical proportions and Darcy's not taking this. She wants her dose of Lee Pace, and no mischievous prince is going to stand in her way no matter how fond she is of him.


	24. Consent

Loki towers over the fool who has decided he is good enough to even glance at his daughter, an ominous look on his face. The boy looks positively terrified yet makes no sound and Iselinn sits behind her father with a faraway look etched on her features. She smiles at a memory unaware of her father's foul mood and its cause. Darcy throws a venomous look at the God of Mischief and then smiles kindly at the young god before them. As if encouraged by that very smile the boy repeats his request. Loki almost jumps out of his seat to strangle him but Darcy takes hold of his hand. Perhaps he is going soft in his old age, "Iselinn." he calls out to his daughter.

Blue-green eyes favour him with a look before they settle on the man before her. Her own smile is a testimony of her mother's influence on her. But Loki knows all to well that behind the smile she has already figured out the worth of her suitor. Iselinn 's dreamy look doesn't lave her face as she listens to the invitation extended to her. To her father's horror she happily accepts and he has half a mind to bind her to the chair. Instead he scowls at the thorn in his side. Darcy sets he mouth in a grim line and tugs delicately on his hand. It's a warning he is not keen on disregarding.

And so for the next few minutes the Prince of Asgard has his hands tied and can only cast a few murderous looks that Darcy quickly intercepts and shakes her head. In that moment Loki decides that Thor is lucky Gwendolyn is only five and a scrap of a girl who would rather bite boys than dance with them. And speaking of her, he can barely see the little blonde tidbit hiding behind her mother's dress, no doubt holding the knife that has been recently gifted to her. If only Iselinn would be more like her cousin he would be able to get a full night's rest.

Iselinn is turning out much like her mother predicted. Darcy beams at her dancing daughter simultaneously holding back Loki. He can complain all he wants after their daughter has had her dance. "I have no idea why you worry so much. Iselinn is your daughter too; she can throw spells faster than anyone can blink. And I'm referring to those of the potentially dangerous and harming variety." Loki doesn't look convinced. "Loki she has to stand on her own two feet; she can't be your little girl forever." Iselinn spins on the dancing floor and Loki looks as if he has seen her for the first time.

"Your assessment won't stop me from making that boy's life a living hell once this dance is over. My girl was perfectly content to read her book and practice her magic until you put this idea into her head." Iselinn looks towards them and her smile brightens the room. Darcy smirks in triumph. "Let the girl have a break from all those books and live a little."

* * *

The 100th review was from someone who wanted to see a bit more of Iselinn.


	25. Line

"He feels safe in the assumption that his line will endure." Iselinn drawls softly with a tone she has picked up from her father.

Darcy glances at her eldest daughter while balancing Melek on her knee. Her youngest daughter is closer in looks to the children's father, while Iselinn is more of a combination between her parents. Melek smiles angelically at Darcy who is one step away from loosing her patience with Iselinn. "And you lack conviction." the older woman argues with a tired voice. "Have a little faith."

Shahla, who is two years Melek's senior, keeps her eyes on her book. Her remarkably dark orbs steer clear of the spat between mother and daughter. However she can't resist making a quip, "Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother." Her voice is clear and strong yet deeper than most girls' at her age. Pointy features lit by the fire promise to become handsome some day.

As if her sister's words had not reached her ears Iselinn paced the floor. "It is not about faith. I have faith. A lot of it. The problem lies in the fact that he refuses to see this from another perspective. Mine."

"Honey," Darcy says, this time a little more than annoyed, "I understand you feel frustrated but there will come a time when you will wish for things to be as they are now."

Iselinn sighs. If any of her brothers were home they would gang up with her mother for sure. There is truth in Darcy's words, yet she is a young woman constricted by her father's exaggerated care. "It's not that, mother. I just want a little freedom. I want to be like any other young girl-"

"But you're not just anyone." Darcy rebukes sternly. Melek pouts at her oldest sister and Shahla takes a moment to throw her a disproving glance. Iselinn glares at both in turn. "Listen to me young lady; you are your father's daughter. You are a princess of Asgard. There is no place here for being spoiled."

"I never asked to be born into this!" Iselinn protests, blue-green eyes widening in distress.

"Neither did I or any of your sisters. This is your fate." her mother concludes sharply but not without kindness in her voice.

"Father will be returning soon." Shahla offers when the tension becomes unbearable. Even Melek seems put out and jumps down from her mother's lap.

Outside the wind blows harshly. This is the reality of who they are. Some things cannot be changed no matter how hard one tries. Iselinn sits herself on a chair and looks into the fire. "There is nothing more to be said then."

"No, there isn't." is the reply she gets.

The agreement falls like a brick onto her. Iselinn leans back, almost slouching. Nobody said she had to be perfect in this little role of hers. She smiles secretly, thinking of all the trouble and mischief she may get into.

* * *

Note on names:

Iselinn – of Nordic origin, it means _dream, vision; _it is also a rare variant of Iselin, name of a city

Melek – Turkish name with the meaning of _angel _

Shahla – a Persian given name, which means _a dark eyed woman_

Quote: Shahla quotes Khalil Gibran


	26. Critique

**WARNING: AU Goddess!Darcy, Goddess!Jane, Human!Loki**

* * *

Darcy peers at Jane who is ruthlessly smashing her hammer to a troll's head. She smiles at her sister's heavy handedness but looses the expression when the smarting cut at the edge of her mouth begins to bother her. Using her magic she defeats two enemies at the same time. This game is getting boring. Sif yells something to her but Darcy disregards whatever it is. They are not on the best of term, Sif and she. Moments later she turns to see her nearly impaled. For the sake of Jane she saves the other female warrior. The last opponent hits the ground.

"Now that we are done with this foolhardy quest of yours," Darcy drawls, "I shall be returning home."

Jane's eyes glint with amusement. "Do not say you miss your lover sister for you have spent more than a fortnight in his company."

"I am not you, Jane." Darcy quips not without a seed of annoyance. "I seldom miss lovers. What I long for is my companion."

"But you have Sif and I." Jane returns while Sif glares pointedly at her accurately revealing her exact feelings at that statement.

"Put together you have not a bit of the value Loki has." She is somewhat blunt but safe in the knowledge that Jane never takes offence and Sif cares nothing for her words.

"You have grown quite attached to him." Sif observes. "He will not endure Darcy. He is a human."

"Do not say such things least some should think you care, Lady Sif." Blue eyes flash with intent at the midnight haired goddess. "He will. I will make it so."

Her sister's smile is a gentle one. "Of course! Mother will see the necessity of it and father can be prevailed upon. Have a care Sif, of the words that leave your mouth."

"Telling her to shut her god would have been more effective, and shorter." Darcy does not add that it would also be ruder, which she would have greatly enjoyed. She lived for tormenting others, especially Sif - when the opportunity presented itself. Why she will always cherish the memory of Sif's shrill cry when she woke with her hair a short as a pixie's. Darcy still fell in a laughing spell just thinking about it. That haughty friend of Jane's had deserved it full and well and Darcy would have taken more than her golden locks had she thought she could get away with it.

As it was Sif was of no interest to her. She was more preoccupied with her new human discovery. Loki. He was an interesting young man. A dreamer whose mind she felt very much at home in. Letting her essence brush to his she smiled briefly. If only he had been born in her realm. His time was short. Hers was infinite. "Father, keep him in your care." she whispered to the rustling wind. This human was hers. She took acre of her own.

"Even if the Norns are against this, I will keep him for as long as he shall be in my power." She would. She would break destiny to get what she wanted. This was by no means any different.


	27. Gratitude

Loki grimaces but dares not distract Thor from what he is doing. It is a risk he is willing to take; letting his brother save his son that is. Loki would have done it himself yet in his weakened state it would prove unwise, so he is forced to stay here with his head in a trembling Darcy's lap. The woman is sniffling softly as she looks him over, fingers gliding over the major wounds, and waits impatiently for Thor to bring Derrick back.

"You said it would be fine." she says faintly, tiredness dampening her usually bright mood. "You said it would be fine. Now look what's happened!"

He can say nothing to comfort her so he lets her unburden herself. There is no novelty in the blame being placed on him. And Darcy's reaction is understandable. She is Derrick's mother and more than once she had put herself in harm's way to keep her son safe. Dimly he realises that her hands are balled into tiny fists, nails digging into her tender flesh. He takes one of her balled fists in his own hand; he still cannot tell her anything to ease her suffering. What could erase her anxiety in such moments? Nothing, of course, there is nothing.

"I swear to you, Loki Odinson, that if my son does not come back to me I-" she can't continue, tears are choking her. "God! Let my baby come back safe. Just keep him safe." She draws her hair back with shaking fingers and bites her tongue to keep from dissolving into tears.

There is something to be said about this woman of his, Loki thinks as he watches her through half-closed eyes, too tired to try convincing her to calm down. He can feel the fear rolling off of her in waves and yet she's throwing around threats, which no doubt she would see through if something did happen to their son. Derrick is just a child, helpless to defend himself in the face of danger and that made him the perfect target. Once his wounds are healed, Loki promises himself that those who dared tough his son will meet with endless suffering.

The moment Thor enters with a sleeping Derrick in his arms, Darcy dashes over to her son and Loki slowly rises, ignoring the strain he places on his body. His son looks unharmed, a little bit shaken with his hair flying everywhere and tear tracks on his face, but otherwise he seems alright. Darcy takes him to her chest with careful movements. Best let him sleep it off. Loki approaches the two and gently strokes the boy's forehead, going over what he knows. Darcy loses herself to the maternal instinct pulsing through her and avidly tries to detect anything wrong with her child. Now, her trembling is not fear, but excitement.

Thor pulls Loki aside, putting a hand on his shoulder. "This is not good news brother. One of them had managed to escape and you know how they are. No doubt he'll be back before we know it with even more power."

A curse leaves Loki's lips. "How is that possible? I thought I destroyed him all those years ago." This enemy proves to be a valiant one. A true challenge. "I cannot put Darcy and my son at risk again."

Blue eyes darkening dangerously, Thor nods. "Bring them home with you. They will be much safer there." the blond suggests.

"She is not yet ready." Loki replies, emerald orbs settling on a warming scene. Darcy sits down with Derrick in her hold and places her cheek on the top of his head. "She is not ready to leave this world behind."

"Time has a way of passing undetected," Thor warns, knowing all too well that Darcy's lifespan is behind his or Loki's. "You don't have the luxury of waiting for her forever. You don't have forever brother."

The words are heard but not accepted. "Her soul will survive. I will find her again."

No answer comes from Thor. The prince of Asgard shrugs. "You know best what it is." He turns around to leave, glancing once more to his younger brother's lover and offspring.

Mortal eyes offer him her gratitude when Darcy spots him. "You saved my son. Thank you." she voices sincerely, tears shining in her cobalt orbs.


	28. Deterioration

_**AU! goddess! Darcy and human!Loki**_

* * *

Ageless eyes watch him, Loki is aware if not flattered. Darcy is sprawled in his bed, her whole form naked. Her skin is freezing against his blazing hot. His fingers gently brush her curly mane, letting the chill bite him. As it often happens after their passions had died down to embers, Loki finds himself contemplating their arrangement.

Lady Darcy is actually a goddess. Not metaphorically speaking either. She is a Norse deity whose age he barely manages to wrap his mind around. And she's in bed with him. Of all the men on Earth she chose him. He would count himself lucky, if only she was not so much trouble. Darcy was a ticking time bomb, a disaster just waiting to happen. She is the sort of woman who lies with ease and feels good about doing it and he is, in contrast, honest to the roots of his being. Falling for her is not something he wants to do but she leaves him little choice. But through the veil of deceit he can still feel a kind heart buried under years of silent pain. That part of him that thinks it can heal anything wants to fix her, so badly.

But Darcy does not want to be fixed. She wants to forget, she wants to have fun with this mortal who will disappear in the blink on an eye. He is no more than a second in her lifeline, one single star in her empty universe. Loki hates it sometimes, that she can be so distant when he slides deeper and deeper with no way to turn around. There are days when he wants to get up and leave, ask her to stop appearing out of nowhere and leave him alone. Darcy literally passes through the walls into his apartment and turns the whole place upside down. She does the same to his heart. Before her he was just a normal man. He wants it all back, his heart and his life, but Loki is quite sure Darcy would not give them up. What is hers she does not let go.

The man lets his head fall down on the pillow, her breath a frosty whisper against him. He does not have the power to deny her, he never did. One look from her and he is a willing victim. In the back of his mind he hears Natasha laugh at him. The Russian woman is one of the few who knows about Darcy, she is also the one who told him he was falling in love with the goddess. Tasha, Loki thinks, is amazing. Darcy does not share his opinion it seems because her fingers are digging into his side, blunt nails dragging painfully against him.

"You should really stay out of my head," Loki murmurs, eyes closing, "if you do not wish to hear my thoughts."

"You should not be thinking about another woman when you are with me," she replies with a hint of anger. "Next time I will not be this merciful."

"What makes you think there will be a next time?" he asks, not really interested in getting an answer. There is always a next time with her, but he has no idea for how long. "I may get tired."

"Don't be foolish, mortal. I am the one who decides when it ends," Darcy responds acidly. "The last time will be when I decide."

Loki shakes his head. She can leave him at any moment and he has no right to complain. "Right." These wounds and scars are best left hidden in that dark corner. "Than means you go when you wish to." He turns away from her embrace.

"I do not want to go," she confesses after a moment of silence. "I am not yet done with you."

Is this her way of telling him that she has grown fond of him? She is a liar after all, by her very nature; her words cannot be trusted. Loki feels her body slide against his like water. She burrows in his warmth, still icy as the blood that runs in her veins. Silence falls between them. He will ask her nothing and she will give nothing in return. This is the way it is for them.

The press on her lips to his shoulder is the only comfort.

* * *

Done.


	29. Net

One small moment, and the world shatters around her. A – _gust of wind blows a_ – heavy curtain of hair in her face, it obscures her view. Darcy grits her teeth and her eyes glow with the anger she does not – _yet_ – have an outlet to. Bright orbs want to drown everything in them, the calmness of the sea. Darcy makes a mad dash for the source of her misery, her – imaginary – backpack hitting her with every step.

A fist flies out. It collides with a gaunt cheek and the bones in her hand quiver. The force she put behind her blow goes both ways. She curses a fright and sinks her nails in the other hand. "You! You vermin! Scum! How dare you show you face around here?!" She yells and yells until her throat is sore. But her visitor is unmoved by her display. "Get out!" She pushes against him –_ when all she really wants is to keep clinging to him _– in vain.

Suddenly two hands grip her shoulders, applying a great deal of pressure. Darcy stills her movements. She waits for him to say something. Anything. And he does not disappoint. "Have you been taking you medicine?" He shakes her away gently. "Miss Lewis, can you answer the question?"

She hadn't expected this. "Loki, why are you asking me about this?" She is genuinely confused, and it shows as a frown on her – _too_ _pale_ – face. "You sound like one of those doctors." She laughs – _hysterically_ – because it's so damn funny. "I swear you sound just like one of them." She flings herself in his arms and wraps hers around him. "I missed you."

"Miss Lewis," _Loki_ says, uncertainty in his words, "when was the last time you took the pills." He pries her away again.

"Loki!" Darcy exclaims, all of a sudden annoyed with him. "What's with all these questions?" She continues her tirade a while longer. "Or have they managed to make you believe it too?" She gives him a cross stare when he fails to answer. "I am not crazy," Darcy insists.

"Of course not, Miss Lewis," _Loki_ immediately agrees. "Would you like me to leave?"

Darcy tilts her head to the side. "What I would like is a cup of coffee. And a walk outside. And a change of clothes. This white clashes horribly with my skin." She blinks owlishly. "What have you been up to Loki?"

He coughs. "Not much, I have finished my latest thesis and I'm going to get it published." _Loki_ has no idea why he's explaining this to her. She watches him absently, her mind miles away. "And you miss Lewis?"

"Oh, this and that," she replies nonchalantly. "But instead of a thesis, shouldn't you work on that glowing cube of yours?" One eyebrow rises in question. "Have you given up world domination?"

As if burned, _Loki _rises to his feet and goes to the door. He stops for a brief second, looks like he's about to turn around, but then decides against it and opens the door. He tells something to another man dressed in white. He is handed something and swiftly closes the door.

"I have something for you," he tells Darcy. "Be a good girl and take this." He opens her pal and places a couple of pills in it. "You'll feel better afterwards."

Her refusal comes with a violent shake of her head and the childish gesture of throwing the pills to the ground. "No!" she screams out categorically. "You cannot make me!"

That's when a pair of women walks in. They flank Darcy and hold her. She trashes desperately as they force the pills down her throat. "Swallow." She hears _Loki_ order. "Come on Miss Lewis, I have no time for this. Be a good girl and take your pills and then we'll let you rest."

In the end she can do nothing but ingest the pills. But it is far from over. As soon as her mouth is free she starts screeching at the top of lungs. "Loki! I want to leave this place. Please, Loki! Please, I want to go out!"

The door closes with a loud thud and her yells come to a halt. She is alone Darcy reclines on the ground, spreading out her limbs. She drags in – _the scent of freshly cut grass_ – air, filling her lungs with it. "Come back, Loki. I'm bored," she whispers.

On the other side of the wall, two voices hold a conversation she cannot make much out of. Still she hears her name being mentioned and smiles dumbly. So they haven't forgotten her. She hopes not because then they might bring her another gown, one with livelier colours, because as she said white is not for her.

A sort of strange tiredness creeps over her. Darcy muffles a yawn. She falls asleep on the ground, sure than when she will wake, _Loki_ will visit her again


	30. Walls

_Loki, Loki, Loki. _Her voice rings in his ears. Where did she ever find out what his name is? Loki curses and fiddles with his tie for the hundredth time. He can't get her image out of his head, and it's darn distracting. In a bad way. That woman is not even sane for God's sake. She thinks he's some sort of villain who plans to take over the world.

"But she's got a fabulous imagination," Thor tells him once, when they are discussing patients. "You have to admit that it's a really complex world she built in her imagination."

He doesn't have to admit anything, Loki decides after a moment. "I would rather she would be less fabulous, as you put it." And he would, because despite the fact that she's constantly calling his name, she's not actually calling him.

The _Loki_ she screams for when she's made to take her pills is certainly not him. It's her made up hero, villain or whatever he is. And that really drives him crazy. The tie strains against his neck. Distantly he wonders if it's possible to suffocate himself with it. Maybe. He unties the blasted thing and sends it flying to the floor. A glass of spirits rests on the table. Loki takes it without blinking and downs the whole thing. On the bright side, he's no longer suffocating. The alcohol soothes him, to a point. And once he is relaxed, it's time for her to invade his mind again.

Miss Darcy Lewis, Loki thinks bitterly. He cannot help but wonder what would have happened had she been at least a little bit sane. They might have got along tremendously. But, as is his luck, Loki never did like the normal girls. It makes sense that he would fall for one on the other side altogether. Luckily, he has learned long ago to keep things like these to himself. Thor makes his life hard enough. "Never give my brother more ammo than needed," he mutters, filling the glass again.

_Loki, Loki, Loki, _goes the chant again, threatening to affect him even more. He can't get it out of his head. He can't get her out of his head. Damn it, he's tired of it all. She wants this and she wants that, and Loki is half convinced to give her everything she wants. A new dress, a walk outside. He even considers becoming her villain. Her hero? Her anything really. She can ask whatever of him. For the moment he is willing to do whatever she asks.

Or maybe not. Reality hits him with its force. That woman is mad, Loki reminds himself, and I'm drunk. He swallows some more burning liquid, feeling it glide down his throat. "I'm drunk," he says to no one in particular. "She's absolutely crazy and I'm totally smashed. What a couple we are."

Only they are not. A couple that is. Because Loki never tells her anything besides that she is supposed to take her pills. The perfect actress, Darcy Lewis plays her part, obstinately refusing to do as she's told.


End file.
